


Chapter One

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Male Escort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's just another client, but right off the bat, Christopher Pine has Zach asking questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Chris and Zach meet through an escort service. Zach is the escort and Chris is his client, the bratty yet enigmatic son of two big Hollywood actors. Despite the title, this is a one shot.

The guy comes from money; that's for damn sure. Zach steps out of the service's town car and walks over to the canopied entrance to the building. Once inside, he's told to wait in the lobby until "Mr. Pine" makes his arrival. He unbuttons his tux jacket and sits on a plush sofa, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He should have paid more attention to the description of the guy. All that Zach remembers is that he's young and his parents are actors, plus some other typical spoiled Hollywood brat stuff.

He sure as hell doesn't expect _that_ to walk out of the elevator: a body that won't quit and eyes that could rival Sinatra's. Zach swallows and stands up, stepping over and extending a hand.

"Mr. Pine," he begins, "I'm Zach, your escort for the—"

"I asked for a woman," the guy says, fiddling with his cuff links and looking Zach up and down. It's safe to say he doesn't look impressed. "You don't appear to be a woman, unless I'm in for a big surprise."

"Oh, well...no. You're not. Um." Zach pats his jacket pockets, searching for his cell. "I'll just call the agency, then, and let them know—"

"Don't bother," he says, waving a hand and already walking toward the exit. "Let's just go before the night's over."

"Yes, Mr. Pine," Zach replies, bewildered.

Sinatra gets in the car first and Zach closes his door for him, immediately pulling out his phone as he rounds the back end. He calls Zoe in reception and she answers as sweetly as ever.

"Don't tell me he already blew his load." She pops her gum loudly. Zach rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, no. You made a mistake. He says he asked for a woman. So what the hell am I doing here? He's barely even looked at me."

"Wait. No way. What's his name? Pine?" Zoe tsks and Zach hears her rustling through papers and typing furiously, imagines the phone cradled between her cheek and shoulder. There's a definitive click of an enter key. "Uh, I don't think so, honey," she finally says. "Pine, Christopher? He definitely asked for a man. And I quote: 'a smoking hot brunette guy.' And you know, since Karl was booked..."

"I hate you," he grunts, smiling reluctantly when she laughs at him. A hard breeze whips through the trees and he shivers. "So, what do you think his problem is?"

Zoe makes a noncommittal sound and there's a scraping noise that tells Zach she's moved on to filing her nails. "Maybe he's on the DL. Self-loathing sodomite. That's kind of hot. Hit that."

Just then, Christopher Pine rolls down his window and barks at him. "I'm not paying you to chit-chat. Get in the car already."

"Oh, my _god_ ," Zoe drawls. "He's gonna be so good in bed."

Zach squints and nods to the client. "Yes, sorry," he says. He hangs up on Zoe and gets in the car.

*

Zach spends most of this gala being ignored in favor of other men, mostly good-looking and stinking of money, all who take every chance they get to touch Christopher Pine on his arms, back, shoulders. Zach can't blame them, really; the man is magnetic—sardonic and self-deprecating in the brief moments of conversation Zach overhears, not so much the asshole he made himself out to be.

But still, Zach has never been so bored on a gig before. Usually, his pants are around his ankles in a coat room by now. He picks at his dish of miniature food, eating some caviar off his fingertip.

"Sorry," he suddenly hears, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It's him, Pine, placing a hand on his back and peering down at his plate like he owns it. And maybe he thinks he does, because he takes one of the hors d'oeuvres for himself, popping it into his mouth. Zach tries not to look at him as though he's crazy. "I kinda have to schmooze at these things," he explains, even though Zach didn't ask. "You having a good time?"

"That's fine, Mr. Pine," Zach answers, considering his plate for a moment. "Yes, of course. I should mention, there's an open buffet right in the—"

"Ugh, listen. This 'Sir, Mr. Pine, Sir' stuff isn't gonna cut it. Call me Chris, okay? And act like we're friends. Talk to me like we're friends."

"Okay," Zach says slowly. He waits for some kind of confirmation, considering the guy has been double-talking all night. Then Chris gives him a genuine smile and Zach lets out a breath, pulling his plate closer to his chest. "Then back up off my food and go get your own, asshole."

Chris laughs, loud and surprised. "Holy shit. You know, I asked for someone with spunk but I didn't think they'd actually listen. But you're like Christmas morning, aren't you, Zach?" He leers a little and Zach has to look away, feeling color rise to his cheeks.

"Well, I'm not a woman, so I guess that all depends."

"Well, thank christ for that."

"I would ask why you even needed to call an escort service, considering how attractive you are," Zach says, shoving a stuffed mushroom into his mouth, "but I have a strong suspicion you have trouble making friends."

"Wow, you really don't pull any punches, do you?" Chris smirks and pats his shoulder. "I have to go pretend to be interested in a few more people, but then we can go somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?" Zach repeats, lifting his brow, the mushroom still whole in his mouth. "I don't know if I—"

"Oh, please. I paid enough to take you anywhere and everywhere for the rest of the night. So just don't let anyone besmirch your honor while I'm gone, got it?"

Zach frowns and chews on his food as Chris walks away. He's willing to bet Karl is on his knees in the backseat of a limo right now, his head trapped between some cougar's thighs.

 _Well, been there and done that_ , Zach thinks. He moves toward the bar for a refill on his champagne.

*

He's sitting at a table by himself, tie long undone and fingers drumming on the table beside an emptied glass, when Chris finally shows up again. He's drunk, if the stench of alcohol on his breath is any indication, and he's handsy.

"Zach," he whispers, right into his ear. "Let's go fuck in the bathroom." He undoes the top two buttons on Zach's shirt like they're made of water and slides his hand over the newly exposed skin beneath. Despite all his carefully cultivated self-control, Zach's dick perks in response.

"A classy guy like you wants to fuck in a john?" Zach smirks at him and Chris gives him a wide, shit-eating grin that somehow cuts through all the previous bullshit and worry. "We can do it in the town car. The service is good about that."

"Romantic," Chris states. He nods and grabs Zach's hand. "I like it."

They all but fall into the car, the driver taking Zach's cue to make himself scarce and go find a coffee shop or something until Zach calls him back. Chris is on him like a shot, his hands everywhere at once, lips dragging along Zach's jaw and down his neck. It's fairly obvious, by the way he bites and sucks at Zach's Adam's apple, that he's not too interested in women after all. Chris tugs lightly at Zach's chest hair and he grunts in response, his head falling back against the seat. It was difficult to remember back when Chris was giving his attention to every man in the room but Zach, but it's all too clear right now that the man is brutally hot.

Zach shifts when he feels Chris' hands on his fly, giving him better access. When they exchange a glance, Chris' confidence seems to falter slightly.

"So, um..." He trails off, furrowing his brow. "Is it cool if I blow you?"

"Uh...yeah. Of course."

Zach fights the urge to give Chris an incredulous look and just smiles instead, moving accordingly so Chris can kneel down on the floor of the car in front of him. Chris pulls Zach's pants down further and sighs quietly when he sees Zach's dark gray boxer briefs, sliding his thumb over the elastic band that reads "Calvin Klein" over and over. (He and the other men have been told to always wear nice underwear.) He bends to kiss the sliver of exposed skin along his belly, just above the waistband, all the way across, and Zach has to shiver in response.

"What should I do?" Chris finally asks. Zach blinks out of his stupor and looks down at him.

"Whatever you want," he says. "Like you said, I'm yours for the night."

"But what should I _do_?" Chris' eyes are wide and searching, and looking into them, Zach suddenly understands. He licks his lips and exhales, curling his fingers around the scruff of Chris' neck.

"You should suck me," he replies, voice dangerously low. "Through my underwear first. Then for real when I tell you."

Zach wants to memorize the hungry look that passes over Chris' face just before he dives forward and fastens his lips to Zach's bulge. He forces himself to keep his eyes open throughout—something he almost never does.

After Zach comes, faster and heavier than he normally does with so much practice, Chris lifts up from the floor and pushes him onto his back. He seems content to open up his own trousers and simply straddle Zach's hips, grinding his erection against the firm muscles of Zach's stomach. Zach feels especially generous after that previous performance; he reaches out and strokes the backs of Chris' thighs, whispering _good, just like that, so hot, come on, baby_ until Chris makes some kind of devastating noise and comes all over him, shaking.

*

They fool around in the car for a long time, until Chris gets drowsy and Zach calls the driver to take them home. When they arrive at Chris' building, Zach rouses him as carefully as possible and sticks close to him on the way up, just in case he suddenly falls over. Chris lives in one of the penthouses, of course, and when he unlocks the door and reveals the palatial space inside, Zach can only think that it's the perfect place to live a lonely life.

"Well, I guess I should be going," Zach says. He moves to dig out a card from his inside jacket pocket but stops when Chris' face falls.

"Already?" He looks at his watch and confirms what Zach already knows: it's past one and his paid time is up. "Well, I mean...you should stay. It's too late to go home now."

"The car will take me home." He smiles slightly and holds out the card to Chris. "But listen, if you ever need an escort again, you can just call me dir—"

"I'll give you an extra five hundred to stay," Chris interrupts. He squints when Zach opens his mouth in surprise. "A thousand? Whatever you want."

"I..." Zach pauses, somehow speechless. "I'm not supposed to. I'm an escort, not a—"

"Here." Chris huffs and pulls out his wallet, counting out ten crisp hundreds and then folding them to death, shoving them in Zach's front pocket. "Now, stop being a dick and come in and fucking stay."

Then Chris kisses him and Zach lets himself be pulled into the apartment, figuring he doesn't have much say left in the matter.

*

When the morning light hits Zach's eyes, he wakes with a slight tremor of panic; his own bedroom doesn't have any windows. Then he remembers where he is, recalls the scent that's all over the pillow and tingling the insides of his nostrils. He lifts his head groggily and spies Chris beside him, sitting up and wearing eyeglasses, of all things, tapping the cap of a black pen against his mouth as he considers the Sunday _Times_ crossword puzzle.

"You do the crossword in pen," he observes, voice scratchy. Chris just looks at him and smiles.

"And you sleep like the dead. Take a shower; I'll buy you brunch."

Zach considers his options and then nods, getting up to search for a towel.

At the restaurant—a very fancy restaurant that Zach has never considered frequenting, let alone going in and demanding the best table, as Chris did—Zach sits in borrowed clothes from Chris, who decided that making Zach wear his tux to brunch would be funny but ultimately cruel. Chris sips his coffee, still wearing those glasses, looking a lot more comfortable than he did last night; and while the tux was devastating, somehow seeing him this relaxed is even sexier. He's got all these papers with him as well, and upon a quick glance, they appear to be pages of a screenplay.

"You should read this for me some time," he tells Zach, looking no less than frank and honest. "Tell me what you think. I need someone to bounce ideas off of."

"Why me?" Zach asks, bewildered.

"Well, you're an actor, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

Chris laughs. "You live in L.A. and you work as a male escort. You're either an actor by day or writing a book that someone else has already written."

Zach can't help a wry smile. "I could be writing a book. It's about all my clients. Chapter one: Christopher Pine, the Pretend Heterosexual Asshole."

"I _am_ an asshole." Chris smirks and twirls his pen between his fingers. "Except when I get tired of it."

Chris deliberately brushes their shins together beneath the table and Zach almost wants to scoff; he doesn't know Chris beyond one bizarre shared evening together and he's certainly not meant to be sitting here in a ritzy restaurant with the guy, blushing at PG-rated sexual advances. But there's just something about Chris—his actions and words and expressions like chapters of a convoluted text that need to be pored over and closely read.

"So, what's your script about?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"Me, I guess." Chris slurps at his coffee again. "You should come back to my place and read it."

"Well, I do have to get my tux back," Zach says, smirking. "Hey, maybe when you sell it, I could play you."

"Nah, you're not hot enough."

Zach gapes at him, laughing. "That's not what you said in the car last night."

"I was trying to make friends," Chris says. Their meals arrive, beautiful plates of food that smell fantastic, as well as fresh mimosas, sparkling and bright. Chris lifts his drink to his full lips, Sinatra eyes dancing. "Hell, I think it worked."

Zoe's never going to believe this.

*

Chris spends the majority of the afternoon on his knees, probably chafing his skin on one of his fancy rugs as he's made to worship Zach's cock. He passes out on the same rug after Zach fingers him until he comes, and then Zach somehow gets him into bed, waiting until he's fast asleep to head out. He makes sure to leave the thousand dollars in the back pocket of Chris' jeans; he knows it's not his to keep.

He arranges to pick Zoe up at the office for a drink, wondering the entire way there just how he's going to broach this tale, or if he should just keep his mouth shut. Something about it feels private, too strange and too real to share.

"Hey," he says, walking through the front doors after Zoe buzzes him in. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, more than—oh, damn, hold on," she says when the phone suddenly rings. Zach leans against the front desk and watches as she sits back down, putting her headset back on. "Diamond Escort Service, this is Zoe speaking." When she pauses to listen, her eyes flicker up to Zach's and he just _knows_. He covers his mouth so she doesn't see his grin and ambles away from the desk.

She catches up with him a minute later, smacking his arm with her clutch. "What was _that_ about? You've got another appointment tonight with Christopher Pine, secret sodomy man."

"No kidding," he says, offering her his arm and walking to the elevator after she takes it. "Call him back later and tell him I'm booked."

"Oh, sure. Leave it to me to break his heart." She flicks her hair back and then gives him a sympathetic look. "He was an asshole, huh? Or just weird?"

"Some indistinct combination of the two," he muses.

*

When Zach shows up at the penthouse later that night, he's delighted at the momentary flicker of surprise on Chris' face. He put that there.

"Come on, asshole," Zach says, "I'm taking you to a movie." He motions to Chris' T-shirt and jeans. "And it's chilly tonight. Put on a sweater."

"I have a sweater," Chris answers, blinking. Then he leaves and comes back with the ugliest garment Zach's ever seen, plus those gigantic, old-man glasses. "How's this?"

"It's going to be so hot when I make you go down on me in the theater. Like a blowjob from dear old grandpa."

Chris laughs as he shuts the door behind him. "See, I would venture that _you're_ the real asshole here."

"And you're the one who booked me. Twice."

"I never said I wasn't a masochist."

Chris starts walking and Zach follows, watching intently as he tucks a cigarette behind his ear. He considers the wedged angle of the Marlboro against the thick arm of Chris' eyeglasses, marveling at how the two objects fit—so opposed yet so natural.

"Neither did I," Zach says. He reaches out instinctively and takes Chris' hand.


End file.
